Daisy.

The rain continued for days, and the worse the weather became, the worse I felt.

Since it was pretty hard to go anywhere without a car in that kind of weather, I was stuck at home. I could have taken a bus, but I’d still be waiting outside in the rain and maybe the bus would be delayed, meaning more time in the rain. Or maybe I could have just called up a cab, but I wasn’t about to shell out money for a nice joy ride around the rainy city.

I was stuck at home, so I was pretty much cut off from everyone. Not that I had very many friends to start with, but I did have a couple of people, sort of, most of whom were busy having normal lives that were unaffected by the sudden change in weather.

If there was one thing I hated more than anything in the world, it was being alone. I couldn’t take it—it just drove me insane with sadness and I felt so empty and horrible. I tried to avoid being alone as much as I could. I tried. I tried really, really hard, to make friends, to find some sort of ‘significant other’, or just someone I could be with to keep me company. The problem was that I managed to push them all away at some point without really meaning to, and by the time I realized it, it was far too late.

I was always alone. Always.

So, to distract myself from my self-inflicted loneliness, I tried lots of things. I bought some tapes and did exercises, if I felt up to it. Occasionally, I did yoga. I meditated. I painted—I painted a lot. I made crafts. I baked. I watched movies. I listened to music. I sat still and breathed. I did research. I read. I took some pills and tried not to feel anything. I tried to do everything possible, but at some point, it wasn’t enough, I couldn’t deal with it, and I caved. I knew I would, because I always did, because I just wasn’t as strong as I wanted to be, and no amount of yoga stretches or canvases or pastries could fix that, or could stop me from picking that razor apart and slicing myself open.

And when it was over, when it was all said and done and when there was so much blood on the sink that it made me dizzy, I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried because I pretty much felt awful and guilty and just a thousand times worse than I had before. I always did, and I always told myself that next time I wouldn’t do it and that next time I’d just go outside and get away, but I wouldn’t. I knew that, but I still told myself I’d be stronger next time, that this was what recovery was all about—trying to get better.

So far, I had been doing a pretty awful job.

I sighed heavily, pulling myself off the floor with shaky, bleeding limbs, trudging down the hallway and to my bed. I had given up on cleaning them up a long time ago, because if I was going to do it again, what was the point? I threw myself on it gingerly, picked up the remote and turned on the TV, trying to ignore the stinging cuts. It was almost as if to spite me—every single channel was playing some sort of lovey-dovey movie or show or commercial, and the more I flicked through, the sicker I felt. I shut it off and groaned, throwing the remote across the room in my frustration.

I glanced out the window.

It was dark and gloomy outside, the streetlamps starting to flicker on. I sat and watched as cars zipped up and down the street, there one minute and gone the next. I sat until I felt stiff and sore, but I couldn’t move. The waterworks started again, and with trembling fingers I wiped the tears away, squinting at the window. It was still pouring as violently as it had been before, but at least there wasn’t any thunder or lightning.

I couldn’t even figure out why I was sad anymore.

I sat up and grabbed my shoes, pulling them on. I didn’t even care about the rain anymore. I needed to go out, because being cooped up so long was starting to slowly but surely drive me crazy. If I stayed inside, there was no telling what I could do to myself, and I didn’t want to stick around to see it.

I shoved my house keys in my pockets, along with some change, leaving my backpack behind. I slammed the door and locked it, tears blending in with the heavy rain. The rain made me feel a little better, but not then. Where was I even going? I walked around blindly, not even caring where I went as long as it was away. The rain picked at my bare legs and arms, rinsing the dried blood away as I walked farther and farther, head hanging as I wept.

I didn’t want to be alone anymore, I was tired of being sad and lonely and just upset all the time—I was tired, period. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore, and with the rain pummeling my skin, I felt numb, mostly, but still sad. I was sick of remembering and I wanted to forget—forget who I was and start all over again. I knew that I couldn’t and that only made me feel worse.

A loud beep jolted me out of my thoughts. Startled, I looked up, only to see two blinding headlights. How did I end up in the middle of the road? A car door opened and a man got out, leaning against the open car door. I was about to yell out a half-hearted apology, turn around and go home, tension pumping through my tattered veins, but before I could, he yelled my name.

I closed my eyes, sighing.

This was not happening.

“Daisy?” I stayed silent, hoping that if I didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t either. Maybe he’d just get back in his car and swerve around me, leaving me to my business. Please, I thought. “Are you alright?” I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t say anything. “Daisy?” He remembered. He remembered. He remembered my name.

“Yeah,” I said, voice strained as I opened my eyes. “Peachy keen.”

“You’re soaked.”

“I can see that.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you crying?”

“No.” We stood in silence for a few minutes, staring at each other. I grabbed my wrist before it could start rubbing itself on my shorts, struggling to breathe. Who would break the silence first? What could I say? What could he say?

I felt faint as a few of the cuts reopened, the blood slipping through my fingers and onto the wet road.

“Get in the car.” I looked at him for a few seconds, wondering why he kept doing this. He didn’t have to and it wasn’t like he was going to get anything out of it anyway. What did he think was going to happen? “Are you going to stand there all night, Daisy?”

I shuffled to the car slowly, squeezing my wrist as hard as I could in a hurried attempt to stop bleeding. I sat in the front seat, shivering when the warm air hit my skin.

He shut his door quietly, hands on the steering wheel as he looked over at me.

“Do you know where you want to go?” I shook my head, rubbing my wet hands up and down my arms to warm up. “Wanna go home?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

We slipped into a silence again, the hum and static of the radio doing little to fill the empty air. Dash started to drive down the street, pulling into a driveway a few minutes later. The air in the car was stuffy and tense and quiet and awkward and almost angry. The tears were pricking at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away before he could say anything about it. I should have just left. Why didn’t I leave? I should have let him take me home or drop me off somewhere or something.

He shut off the car and got out, still mysteriously silent. I followed suit, watching as he grabbed some grocery bags from the backseat. He took my hand—cue bated breath and flushed cheeks and prayers begging that he wouldn’t notice the slippery red stuff on my hands—walking up to a small house. He took a key from under the welcome mat and opened the door. He let go of my hand as he took off his shoes, walking to the kitchen. I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed, frowning as blood dripped on the wooden floor.

He put the groceries away in the fridge, whistling softly underneath his breath. I watched awkwardly, unsure of what I was meant to do.

“You can sit if you want.” I took a seat at the island table, helping myself to a paper towel, hurriedly trying to clean myself up before he noticed. I balled up the spotty paper in my hands when I saw it was no use, pressing my wrists against my legs. I shivered when he opened the fridge, teeth clattering a little. He looked up at me, frowning a little as he shut the white door. “Are you cold?” I nodded sheepishly. “C’mon.”

I followed him up a set of creaking stairs, sniffling a little. I could only keep them at bay for so long. Eventually my tears would get out of hand and I’d end up looking more childish than I had before. He pushed a door open, and I guessed it was his bedroom, what with the desk with books and papers and the video game cases strewn about.

He dug around the closet, pulling out a sweater and some pajama pants.

“I think these might fit you.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking them from him gingerly. The phone rang downstairs and he mumbled something about getting it. I peeled my wet shirt and shorts off, shivering a little more when my wet hair stuck to my skin. I pulled the sweater on and pulled the drawstring as tightly as I could on the pants, letting them rest on my bony hips. I pushed the sleeves up a little so I wouldn’t stain them, shutting the door behind me.

I shuffled towards the stairs, looking down so I wouldn’t trip on the hem of the pajama pants. I ran into Dash when I made it to the stairs, dropping everything in my hands. My face flushed as I stammered through an apology, quickly falling to my knees to pick up my things. He kneeled too, smiling a little as he helped me.

“Are you okay?” I slumped my shoulders as I bit my lip, rubbing at the back of my neck. He took a look at my arms and sighed, face falling as he took them in his hands. My breath hitched and I felt like I was on fire and I just couldn’t breathe anymore. He ran his thumb over the shallow, crisscrossing, thin lines, and then shuffled a little closer. He sighed, pushing some of my hair away with light fingertips, brown eyes poignant. “Jesus Christ, Daisy,” he breathed. “What’d you do?”

“I-I—I-I don’t know,” I hiccupped, vision blurring with white hot tears trickling down my face. He wiped them away with a sad look on his face. “Can we just not talk about it, please?”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hurt yourself, you know.” He brushed his thumbs over my cheekbones as I cast my gaze downward, trying to stop the tears. “Promise me you’ll try to stop, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, sniffling, trying to relax. It was an empty promise and I think we both knew it, but he didn’t say anything about it. He was silent for a second, gnawing on his baby pink lips. I started to cry even harder than I had been before, upset by the whole situation. He pulled me onto his lap, shushing me as he rubbed my back. I buried my face in his shoulder, cries muffled by his t-shirt.

He took a deep breath and said, “I’m gonna fix you, Daisy.”